Everything is Relative
by Bella Rum
I got my hair cut on Thursday. It was old-lady central in that salon. I guess they came out in force because the snow prevented them from getting out the day before. We still have snow because of the low temps.
While waiting for her daughter to bring the car around, not bothering to disguise her annoyance, an eighty-something lady groused loudly, “Look at all these walkers and canes. They’re causing a traffic jam.” She deftly ignored the fact that, in lieu of a walker, she was clinging for dear life to a pony wall that jutted out between the exit door and the waiting area. But for the pony wall, she would have crumbled to the floor. Sniping at the other old ladies, she reminded me of how a toddler, wanting everyone to know she’s no longer a baby, shouts “Baby, baby!” with excitement when she sees an infant. This lady wanted everyone in earshot to know that she did not need a walker and was contemptuous of anyone who did. A mere youngster at sixty-three, I minded my manners and remained quiet, but I could hardly keep from laughing out loud.
When I wrote that post about H tossing my 8-inch springform pan in the trash, Jean commented that Goodwill would be a good place to look for a replacement. On the way to the grocery store on Friday, I took a short detour to our local Goodwill and guess what I found. That’s right – a brand spankin’ new, never been used, 8-inch springform pan for $3. Works for me. Thanks for the reminder, Jean.